


I think that I might break

by pipelliot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5x02, Angst, Canon Era, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash, Series 5, Spoilers, Supposedly unrequited love, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:39:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipelliot/pseuds/pipelliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin asks Arthur a favour. Missing scene from 5x02.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I think that I might break

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting in my documents since 5x02 aired, and for some reason wanted to post it before, er, _Christmas Eve_ , over all my other stuff that are left half unfinished in there. This is what I've decided is a 'missing scene' from 5x02 when the boys come home. Title from "Breathe Me" by Sia.

"I reckon," starts Arthur, obnoxious and loud, "that I must be the absolute most patient King that has ever graced these lands."

Merlin is tired. Merlin is _very_ tired. Rather magnificently so. He’s almost certain that despite the cloak that he wore (and the many, many supposedly warm blankets he’d knotted around his neck) he still sat all day yesterday with teeth chattering madly in front of an open fire and can still feel himself probably thawing slowly as he moves.

Merlin is really tired.

He’s also been forced to see a future- however possible it may be- so absolutely terrible that it probably takes up two-thirds of his energy just trying to store it away somewhere very suitably dark, somewhere unreachable, tied up with the strongest and most durable strings known to man and tied up again. Laced with poison. Burned. Burned again.

No wretchedly vacant stares. No forever-unseeing blues. No fiery red skies. No blood. None. Nothing disgustingly limp, nothing lifeless. Never, ever lifeless.

It’s hard to ignore.

It’s kind of impossible not to.

Merlin picks up Excalibur with a sigh. Flips it around in his palm once, twice. Sees specks of dirty, old blood. Forces his stomach and jaw to unclench and focuses on keeping his fingers curled lightly around the blade, careful not to close them tight around it to stop the trembling.

“No,” Arthur is saying too loudly, “No, I reckon out of the whole five kingdoms.”

Merlin picks up his cloth and starts polishing, careful to ignore Arthur’s sudden presence at his side, the way his knee brushes Merlin’s own.

Merlin ignores the sharpness of blades and instead notices the large empty room, the stretch of cold empty space along the step they’re currently perched on and the warmth of Arthur pressed close along his side.

He’d almost smile. If he wasn't tired, still probably-thawing, horribly terrified and annoyed.

Merlin only grunts half-heartedly, earning him a playful elbow nudge to the ribs.

"Fine, fine," he says, putting down the sword and rubbing his side admittedly more dramatically than needed be. It’s a lot simpler to just indulge Arthur when he’s like this. "Why is that, then?"

"Because I put up with you."

Merlin really isn’t in the mood for their games. He still feels almost permanently frozen. You know, considering he'd been in the Frozen Lands for the better part of _far too long_.

"Ha ha, Sire," he deadpans instead, picking up the ragged old polishing cloth he never did replace (It was usually just for show, anyway.)  


"Really, though," Arthur ploughs on, the teasing in his tone faltering into one more of concern, "what's wrong? You're...you know...bitchier than usual."

" _Bitchy?_ "

"All right, perhaps not-"

"Bitchier _than usual?_ " Merlin abandons his scowl for an expression of complete and genuine incredulousness.

"Well- frankly- yes!"

Merlin pauses then, considerate. He supposes he can see where Arthur is coming from. Merlin has been rather snarky lately, even before their chase. And he’s definitely been quiet since, perhaps with good reason but Arthur certainly doesn't know any of them. Why would he?

"Sorry," Merlin says eventually, bled dry of any fight.

He’s met with a sigh and an irritatingly patient Arthur, eyes wide and blue and gently urging, like he’d use on a lost and startled child. "I want you to tell me why you're upset," he says gently.

"Look, I'll try not to be so-"

“Please,” cuts Arthur before Merlin can finish, infuriatingly encouraging and kind. Like every inch of the King that has learned to shine through the dirt on his hands and the bruises around his eyes, like every bit the person Merlin has come to adore to desperate pieces.

"Go on, then," urges Arthur with a knock of a knee against his own.

Merlin figures it couldn’t hurt too much to try again. "It's just that- that vision. Remember the one I mentioned? In the village? I-"

Arthur, unsurprisingly, rolls his eyes. "I thought I told you to pay no mind to that."

Merlin deflates. It’s not like it’s essential for Arthur to know, exactly. Merlin knows that however much he tries there will always be certain heartaches Merlin can never protect Arthur from, the ones he holds still from him included. He can only guard what of it is left, make sure there’s still something there to swell and break. "Yes, I know," he says. He can do this. He can do this alone, from the outside. He’s done it before, after all. Heartbreaking years of it.

Years that Merlin supposes entitles him to one thing, just one thing.

"Just. Do me a favour. Just promise me one thing, will you?"

Merlin supposes he should think about how he’s asking the King of Camelot to do him a favour, but he’s never thought much about that kind of thing before, so he’s not going to start now. 

Arthur lifts a brow, gives a curt nod. _Go on_.

"Don't ever die."

Arthur's eyes widen only a fraction and the corners of his lips twitch slightly like he's about to laugh. He catches himself quickly, though. Instead, he holds Merlin's gaze steadily and calm. 

"I can't promise that," he says, firm and ever-patient.

Merlin tries to smile, supposes if he makes light Arthur might think him a little less of a madman. It’s hard though, and Merlin supposes he can’t make it look right since he means it too much. "Promise me you'll wait, then? Let me go first, at least?"

It’s quiet for, Merlin counts, exactly six of his own heartbeats. "I think…” Arthur starts, and Merlin doesn’t know how he should even begin read the look in his eyes. “Merlin, I think there's more a chance of me living forever than watching you die."

"That doesn’t-" _make sense_ , Merlin begins to say. But Merlin thinks his eyes may just be beginning to glisten a little when he swallows, says instead, "Then we'd both have to live forever."

Arthur smiles, small and sad, like he knows it’s all pretend, but wants to grab wooden swords and too-large capes and play along anyway. 

“I guess we would.”

"Or," Merlin proceeds to stick his foot in his mouth, almost like his regular self again, he thinks. "Or we could die at precisely the same moment."

Arthur frowns. “I think I prefer the former.”

"It is decided, then," Merlin declares most pompously to the room at large, straightening his back and putting on his poshest voice, forcing a teasing smile. "The King and his manservant shall, both of them, never die.” He turns to Arthur, “Should His Majesty like to make it law?"

Arthur looks at him. And looks and looks, the false lightness of the situation seeming to fade almost completely. He looks Merlin in the eye (Arthur’s bright as they always are, but with a kind of hollowing sadness and regret that Merlin really shouldn't think about too much) and says softly, a tiny, hollow smile forming on his lips—

"Merlin and Arthur shall never die."

Merlin is a bit stunned at the sincerity of it, supposes maybe he should be the one thinking _Arthur_ a madman. He doesn’t, though. Merlin gets it. He does. 

He bravely picks up one of Arthur’s hands and plays with it between both of his, for no reason at all but simply for the touch, because it’s been a long week and Merlin gets the feeling they both may need it. He strokes his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles, twiddles with and rubs the ring on his forefinger, the one on his thumb. Merlin doesn’t know how long he does it for; just drinks in the warmth until Merlin nods, tells himself he’s satisfied.

Arthur clears his throat, and when Merlin looks at him, his eyes are wide and he’s blushing. He looks so oddly stricken that Merlin almost apologizes.

Almost- until Arthur reaches into his own pocket, produces a fresh, crisp white cloth, and puts it gently into Merlin’s palm. He doesn’t look Merlin in the eye, lets his fingers linger on the fabric, lets them glide down over Merlin’s wrist. The touch is barely there, until it is. It roams gently over Merlin’s veins until Merlin realizes it’s searching for a pulse. When Arthur’s forefinger finds it, he presses down just a little harder, and Merlin can see the strange concentration writ all over his features. The touch is still barely there, but Merlin reckons he’s never felt anything so clearly, so thoroughly before in his life.

Arthur swallows, pulling away and nodding shortly to himself, seemingly satisfied that Merlin had so far kept to the law they’d created.

“Just checking,” he whispers, and smiles so small and desperate that Merlin stops breathing with everything it looks like it means.

While Merlin continues to stare ridiculously at him, Arthur reaches forward and picks up Excalibur from where Merlin left it down in front of them, and hands it back to him. And then, without another word, slips quietly out of the room in a way Merlin would have never thought Arthur knew how.


End file.
